


time before the end

by astano



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short ficlet set after 3x07. Sansa enquires about the other things Margaery has been taught by her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time before the end

“What other things did your mother teach you?” Sansa asks, later, when they’ve settled into a secluded corner in one of the quieter gardens—although nothing is ever truly quiet in King’s Landing, and Sansa can see the backs of two guards less than fifty feet away, even hear the low murmur of their conversation sometimes, carrying on the light breeze.

Margaery laughs, the sound loud and bright in the almost stillness of the garden. Something inside Sansa lightens inexplicably, as it does every time she’s blessed with the sound of Margaery’s laughter. “You didn’t really think my mother taught me those things, did you?”

She’s teasing, but it’s not cruel, not like some of the teasing Sansa has had to endure in the past. Still, Sansa’s cheeks flush, and flustered, she says, “Oh, I—Who, then, if not your mother?”

Margaery’s fingers skip lightly over Sansa’s forearm, tugging gently at the fabric of her dress. She dips her head slightly, bringing them closer, and adding an air of conspiracy to their conversation that makes Sansa’s heart flutter in time with the feel of Margaery’s fingers on her arm.

“Well,” Margaery says, eyebrows dancing in their expressive way that makes Sansa want to never turn her eyes away from Margaery’s face. “My first handmaiden at Highgarden was a very gifted woman.”

Sansa’s cheeks colour further at the implication of Margaery’s words. “She taught you...”

“That a woman’s pleasure was not something to be ignored, to be granted at the whim of my future husband, but was something to be sought after, even to be taken into my own hands if necessary.” And with those words, the teasing tone of earlier is gone. She’s looking intently at Sansa, so much so that Sansa shudders under her gaze, feels something inside her ache in a way that feels inexplicably good, and so it seems to follow almost without thought that Sansa replies, “Would you teach me?”

~

She realises she wants this more than almost anything she’s ever wanted the moment Margaery’s lips press eagerly against her own. It’s as if all their talk, all their actions have been leading up to this moment, and now they’re finally here, Sansa realises it was inevitable, from the moment Margaery first smiled at her.

Margaery’s lips are soft against her own, tasting faintly of the colouring she’d applied earlier in the day. It’s intoxicating in a way she’s never known before, and Sansa feels breathless from the intensity, helpless to do anything but kiss Margaery back.

When they finally part, she’s breathing heavily, and her head feels all over the place, enough so that when Margaery leads her to the bed, she stumbles slightly, sitting down hard on the edge.

Margaery smiles at her, reaching out to stroke fingertips over her cheek. “Can I take off your dress?” She asks, dropping her hand to finger gently at the neckline.

Sansa nods. “Please.”

She’s nervous, but Margaery’s fingers are sure and steady as she works open the buttons, until Sansa can stand again on slightly shaky legs, and let the dress drop down to pool on the floor. Her undergarments are next, and then she’s standing naked, trying to fight the urge to cover herself, because Margaery’s eyes travel over every inch of her body, and she’s sure she won’t measure up. While she’s always been the pretty one in her family, Margaery is beautiful in a way that she can’t hope to compare.

But then Margaery is kissing her again, softly, almost reverently, and, as if she can read Sansa’s thoughts, says, “You are beautiful,” with enough conviction that Sansa believes she means it.

She helps Margaery shed her own clothes then, drinking in the sight of her naked body eagerly. Something hot coils inside of her, and she reaches out, needing to touch with more than her eyes.

Her fingertips slide slowly over Margaery’s exposed skin, and she watches with fascination the prickle of goosebumps that follow in their wake. When she reaches her breasts, she hears the breath hitch in Margaery’s throat, and the shaky exhale she releases a moment later. Her own body responds pleasantly to the sound, and the feel of Margaery’s nipple hardening under her palm.

“You don’t seem to be in need of teaching,” Margaery says, momentarily stilling Sansa’s hands with her own, before urging them both onto the bed.

“I am,” Sansa replies. “I want—I want you to teach me how to please _you_.”

“I can do that.”

With gentle direction and the soft sounds of her pleasure, Margaery teaches her, and Sansa listens. In truth, Sansa doesn’t think she ever wants to stop listening. The way Margaery gasps out her name; how her body shakes and trembles when Sansa reaches to stroke fingers hesitantly through slick heat; and how she reaches for Sansa’s free hand, squeezing tightly in the last desperate seconds before she breaks.

Sansa can’t remember the last time she felt so happy. She’s almost drunk on it, and she can’t help the delighted smile that spreads across her face when Margaery’s eyes flutter open once again and meet with her own.

~

“I think I might love you,” she says, later, pressing her lips against Margaery’s chest, just above the swell of her breasts.

She looks up, then, catching Margaery’s eyes, which crinkle slightly as she smiles. “It’s a natural response, after,” Margaery says, stroking her fingers through Sansa’s hair. It’s soothing, in a way that makes Sansa’s eyes droop a little further, but she fights the desire to slip into sleep, propping herself up a little.

“No,” she says, because that’s not true, it can’t be. There’s not much that she’s sure of, but how she feels now, how, lying here pressed against Margaery’s body, she feels content and _safe_ for the first time since she her father died, that’s something she does know. 

Before she can say anything further, Margaery’s arms tighten around her, and she says, “In a very small amount of time, I will be wed to the King, and you to Tyrion Lannister, and we shall both love our husbands very much.”

Sansa wants to protest. She wants to say she could never feel for Tyrion what she feels now. But she knows, she knows because she’s already survived so long at King’s Landing, that this is how things have to be.

But still, they have time, and she’s going to make the most of every second.


End file.
